been looking at
his friend. He continued, however, to pluck at the plaster. He had always
hated and loved Courtlandt, alternately. He never sought to analyze this
peculiar cardiac condition. He only knew that at one time he hated the
man, and that at another he would have laid down his life for him. Perhaps
it was rather a passive jealousy which he mistook for hatred. Abbott had
never envied Courtlandt his riches; but often the sight of Courtlandt's
physical superiority, his adaptability, his knowledge of men and affairs,
the way he had of anticipating the unspoken wishes of women, his
unembarrassed gallantry, these attributes stirred the envy of which he was
always manly enough to be ashamed. Courtlandt's unexpected appearance in
Bellaggio had also created a suspicion which he could not minutely define.
The truth was, when a man loved, every other man became his enemy, not
excepting her father: the primordial instinct has survived all the
applications of veneer. So, Abbott was not at all pleased to see his
friend that morning.

At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge. "The Barone called upon me
this morning."

"Oh, he did?"

"I think you had better write him an apology."

Abbott sat up. He flung the piece of plaster violently to the floor.
"Apologize? Well, I like your nerve to come here with that kind of wabble.
Look at these lips! Man, he struck me across the mouth, and I knocked him
down."

"It was a pretty good wallop, considering that you couldn't see his face
very well in the dark. I always said that you had more spunk to the square
inch than any other chap I know. But over here, Suds, as you know, it's
different. You can't knock down an officer and get away with it. So, you
just sit down at your desk and write a little note, saying that you regret
your hastiness. I'll see that it goes through all right. Fortunately, no
one heard of the row."

"I'll see you both farther!" wrathfully. "Look at these lips, I say!"

"Before he struck you, you must have given provocation."

"Sha'n't discuss what took place. Nor will I apologize."

"That's final?"

"You have my word for it."

"Well, I'm sorry. The Barone is a decent sort. He gives you the
preference, and suggests that you select pistols, since you would be no
match for him with rapiers."

"Pistols!" shouted Abbott. "For the love of glory, what are you driving
at?"

"The Barone has asked me to be his second. And I have despatched a note to
the col